Transcending the stereotypical trash pile of jump scares, death by sex, and dumb teenagers tripping at the worst possible moment, recent knockout films such as “The Witch,” “Get Out,” “A Quiet Place,” and “Hereditary” seem to be the leading pioneers of the horror genre’s renaissance. Often snubbed during awards season and looked down upon as cheesy or hokey, horror movies are rapidly regaining their critical acclaim — just consider the brilliant screenplay and dissection of racial issues in “Get Out” or the bone-chilling terror and petrifying images in this year’s “Hereditary.” Spooktober is well underway, and while everyone continues to spread skeleton memes around the internet and plan their Vine-inspired Halloween costumes, “The Shining,” Kubrick’s masterpiece, set this precedent for horror as an elevated art form almost 40 years ago and that was truly my gateway drug into scary movies.

It wasn’t until I was 15 and had built up some immunity by watching tamer movies like “Coraline” and “Ghostbusters” that I decided to watch “The Shining,” the movie responsible for the famous “Here’s Johnny!” moment and frozen Jack Nicholson memes. Unlike some decrepit attic or dirty garage with a lone flickering bulb, the Overlook Hotel is spacious, well-lit, and beautifully designed with a view of vast, snowy mountain tops, yet it was terrifying like nothing else before. As the Steadicam followed Danny Torrance on his Big Wheel through the empty corridors, it felt floating in a vast, endless ocean with no way of knowing what horrors were swimming under the surface. It was the unsettling void of the building that made me uncomfortable in such a profound way — was it possible not to contemplate all the grotesque possibilities hiding behind closed doors or lurking just around the corner? My primal reaction to the movie could be summed up in one word: kenophobia (the fear of voids, empty rooms, and barren spaces). Growing up as an only child, I spent many hours alone and slowly got used to it, but despite my steadfast belief in science, I couldn’t ignore the unnerving, weird feeling I got in my finished, tastefully decorated basement. As a result, “The Shining” was scary in a way that didn’t seem cheap, but rather profound and touchingly personal. For once, I didn’t feel ashamed or embarrassed by my fear but rather impressed; Kubrick’s phantasmagoria was such a beautiful, awful enigma that it whetted my appetite for what quality horror could accomplish. I haven’t looked back since.

It is not strange for a bright little girl to idolize a badass nerd like Hermione Granger or for a middle-aged man working from a cubicle to recognize the Michael Scott’s and Toby Flenderson’s in his life, but it does seem strange that I’d make such a strong connection to a polarizing horror movie from 1980. I’d like to defend this movie’s strange place in my heart and break down just two scenes (even though I could probably write my entire senior thesis about this) that showcase the brilliance of its screenplay, acting performances, and of course, cinematography.

While for many Hollywood stars, portraying an insane madman or a cold psychopath marks a rite of passage and one of the biggest challenges of their career, Jack Nicholson, especially as he stalks Wendy (Shelley Duvall) up the stairs of the Colorado Lounge, makes it look so incredibly effortless. Immediately after discovering that her husband has spent the entire winter repeatedly typing “No work and no play makes Jack a dull boy” on his typewriter, Wendy is confronted by Jack Torrance (Nicholson), now at peak insanity and about ready to plunge into a murderous wrath. There’s something wonderfully humorous about Jack’s performance as he goofily imitates his wife, sticks out his tongue, and takes full advantage of his iconic crazy eyebrows. But how can your blood not also curdle when Jack chillingly states, “Wendy? Darling? Light, of my life. I'm not gonna hurt ya. You didn’t let me finish my sentence. I said, I’m not gonna hurt ya. I'm just going to bash your brains in!” This scene has stirred controversy for apparently requiring 127 takes before the meticulous Kubrick was satisfied and for pushing Duvall close to a mental break down, but I’ll selfishly continue to rewatch it for its mesmerizing tension and fantastic portrayal of unhinged insanity.

Any analysis of “The Shining” would be incomplete without a mention of Kubrick’s masterful cinematography from his sweeping shots of the Colorado mountain roads to the aerial perspective of the hotel’s eerie hedge maze. Walking away from a viewing of this movie though, it’s particularly hard to forget the horrifying image of a sea of blood pouring out of the Overlook’s elevators. It’s persistent, inescapable, and accompanied by a quiet, monotonous drone of dread. Whether you interpret the tidal wave of crimson slowly but deliberately swallowing up the camera as our unstoppable march towards death, the animalistic, violent nature of mankind, or the battle in our minds against inner demons, this gorgeous slow-motion shot has the power to chill bones. And the best part about it is that it does so without jump scares, loud, ominous music, or any other tired-out trope.

Stephen King, author of “The Shining,” may hate this movie for its blatant disregard of the source material all the way to the grave, but I’ll continue to treasure this Kubrick creation and am celebrating its return to Netflix right in time for the Halloween season.